


Happy Anniversary

by potentiality_26



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Anniversary, Community: older_not_dead, Established Relationship, Fluff, Future Fic, M/M, Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-31
Updated: 2014-05-31
Packaged: 2018-01-27 14:14:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,157
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1713560
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/potentiality_26/pseuds/potentiality_26
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>Clint rolled his eyes and put the bag in the machine by the front desk. The machine was way cooler than a metal detector. It was Asgard tech, specifically designed to identify weapons. Forks only got past it some of the time, which puzzled Clint. When it did detect something, the machine started screeching like it was Ragnarok, and since that would pretty much ruin Clint’s evening he had decided to forgo utensils altogether this time around.</em>
</p><p>Director Coulson tends not to make it to dinner, so Clint brings dinner to him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Happy Anniversary

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the older_not_dead Promptathon 17 (Food and Drink) prompt: anniversary dinner.

Clint made his way to Phil’s building at around five.

The new SHIELD offices- which weren’t called SHIELD offices, of course, but would always be SHIELD to Clint- had a very silver, sci-fi look to them, like they belonged in Star Trek. In fact, the backbone of the original building had been constructed by aliens who- for reasons best known to themselves- had brought their civil war to Earth for a while. It had been all hands on deck just to minimize the collateral damage, and all the people who were supposed to be dead- and no, Fury and Coulson weren’t the only ones- had come out of the woodwork.

Every time Clint visited, he took in all the bright panes of glass and sharp angles of steel and thought about those few days. They had, at the time, seemed to last forever. Clint still remembered seeing Simmons- just Simmons- and Dr. Banner trying to rig up something that would work as a kind of shield. He remembered how Simmons went quiet periodically, expecting someone who wasn’t there to pick up the slack.

She had been- she still was, in Clint’s opinion- too young to wear such a look of anguish. It had made Clint ache when he saw it; sometimes, it still did.

Clint had been looking for someone to tell him what to do, who to shoot, when he saw Coulson- Director Coulson, by then- running evacuations like he wasn’t supposed to be dead or anything.

There hadn’t been time to demand an explanation. There hadn’t even been time to contend with the lightening he'd felt in in his heart at knowing that he, at least, hadn’t lost a piece of himself he couldn’t replace, as he'd thought he had. Clint had just waited for orders.

It had, therefore, taken him a long time to get the whole story out of Phil, and even longer to make any kind of peace with it.

“I understand why Fury did it,” Clint had said to Phil, over a year later, quite out of the blue from the kitchen. “I know he cared about you a lot.”

“Cares,” Phil had corrected absently, tapping away at his keyboard.

“Seriously? We haven’t seen him since the battle.”

Phil had simply shrugged one shoulder. “That’s just Nick,” he said.

“All right,” Clint had said, finally. “No more talking about _Nick_ , okay?” He came to the table, took Phil’s laptop away, and put pie in front of him. “And no more work either, _Director_. It’s the dinnertime rule.”

“I thought the dinnertime rule was that I didn’t get to leave the table for at least an hour, except to write ‘I will not die again’ on the blackboard.”

“That one’s still in effect.”

“Clint…”

“Shut up, it’s a good rule.”

Phil had smiled at that. “You know it won’t always be like this, right? We’re in transition now, but once things are running smoothly…”

“You won’t have to bring your work to dinner?”

“I probably won’t make it to dinner at all.”

And Clint had known that Phil meant it, and that he was right, but if he’d expected anything else he wouldn’t have married Phil Coulson. Anyway, he was resourceful. He could- and would- work around Phil.

The new SHIELD that was not SHIELD wasn’t affiliated with the Avengers. They occasionally sent over a representative- usually Phil’s protégé Skye- but they weren’t in charge or anything. The main drawback of that set-up was that Clint only got the comfort of Phil being the voice in his ear after things had already gone way south. The main advantage was that when he showed up at the offices around lunch or dinner it was more ‘Oh, hey Clint,’ than ‘What’s the emergency, Hawkeye?’

The guy at the front desk smiled blandly when Clint walked in, picked up the phone and said, “The director’s husband is here to pick him up for dinner.” A pause. The guy addressed Clint. “He’s pretty busy.”

“Isn’t he always?” Clint waved a brown paper bag at him. “I came prepared.”

“We’ll have to scan that,” the guy said, eyes narrowing.

Clint rolled his eyes and put the bag in the machine by the front desk. The machine was way cooler than a metal detector. It was Asgard tech, specifically designed to identify weapons. Forks only got past it some of the time, which puzzled Clint. When it did detect something, the machine started screeching like it was Ragnarok, and since that would pretty much ruin Clint’s evening he had decided to forgo utensils altogether this time around.  

“All right,” the guy said reluctantly, when the machine merely beeped happily at Clint’s offering. “You can go up.”

“Thank you,” Clint said, bowing, and rode the fancy elevator up to the top floor, where Phil worked.

Phil’s secretary waved at him from the desk in front of Phil’s office.

“I told you I might have to work through dinner,” Phil said, and he did indeed have an enormous pile of paperwork in front of him. Fury hadn’t done half so much, but one thing Phil wasn’t all that good at was delegating. Also, the new SHIELD that was not SHIELD did almost none of its important filing on computers. Phil had told Clint he decided to do it that way because, years ago, he and his team had tried to steal information from an organization where everything was on paper. It had been so annoying that he’d decided to implement the practice in his own.

Clint dropped the bag on Phil’s desk. “Happy anniversary.”

Phil’s pen stopped scratching and he was still.

“Tenth or something, isn’t it?” Clint asked casually, to snap Phil out of it.

“Seventh,” Phil corrected, and set his pen down carefully, like he was still trying to work out how much trouble he was in.

“Damn straight. If you think I’ll let you work through our tenth anniversary you’ve got another thing coming.”

Phil laughed, put his paperwork aside, and opened the bag. “It also bears mentioning that we were only married on paper for a couple of those years.”

Clint didn’t say, ‘Not in my heart,’ because that would be cheesy. Also, he knew Phil knew. “Let’s just eat,” he said. It wasn’t anything fancy, just some sandwiches Clint had put together.  He'd also packed two cokes because Phil would only drink alcohol in the building under very special circumstances- probably twenty-fifth anniversary at least- in cans because the Asgard weapons detector didn’t like bottles.

Opening his, Phil toasted Clint. It gave a dull aluminum clang, which wasn’t exactly festive, but the fact that they were having an anniversary at all was all the fancy Clint needed- especially given how long he’d spent thinking he’d lost Phil before they’d ever started something to have an anniversary _of_.  That was cheesy too, of course, but Clint couldn’t bring himself to care.

It was a good night.


End file.
